circling
by scntlla
Summary: "It's rude to not look at your dancing partner, you know." (Day 6 of #marihildaweek on twitter. Prompt: Dance)


This was the worst day of Marianne's life. She said the same thing to herself only three days ago, but today, she really meant it. Not only did she go and embarrass herself in front of the whole class, but she _injured _someone else in the process, and they were both paying for it by sitting idly in the monastery's infirmary, waiting until Professor Manuela finally came around.

The woman had barged in when Marianne least expected her to, causing her to recoil, nearly jumping out of her seat. Luckily, the professor was focused on the wounded party—courtesy of Marianne "Two Left Feet" von Edmund herself—instead.

"Ouch," Hilda hissed as Manuela prompted for her to lie down on the bed and stretch out her leg. "That hurts!"

"Sorry, dear, but I need to get a good look at it." Manuela probed the area gently with her hands, but even the slightest touch was enough to startle Hilda. She glanced at Marianne. "You didn't step on her, did you?"

Marianne flinched at the harshness of her words. They weren't said so as to harm her feelings, specifically, but she was hurt by them, nonetheless. Her heart sank at the realization of it all: she _hurt _Hilda, and Hilda's leg twisted awkwardly and her ankle sprained from out under her as a result, and now they were in the infirmary atoning for their crimes—it was all a Goddess-forsaken mess.

Marianne didn't dare say anything. She almost didn't come to the infirmary, in the first place, but forced herself to accompany Hilda, despite doing a shoddy job of carrying her there in the first place.

Well, _attempting _to carry. If she had even half of Hilda's strength, then she would've been able to bring her without struggle. But as it were, Marianne had to act as a lean-to while Hilda hobbled her way to the infirmary.

"It was an _accident," _Hilda reassured. "Although, Marianne _did _step on me, but it's not like she wanted this to happen."

"Forgive me, I didn't mean to make it seem that way. I know you girls must be working hard these days." Her face turned soft, and Marianne wondered if this was the same woman that Professor Hanneman proclaimed to be _feral. _"And don't you worry, Marianne. This isn't as bad as it seems. With the right treatment, Hilda's leg will be healed in—oh, maybe four days?"

"Four days?" Hilda gawked. "Like, I wouldn't mind resting for all that time, but the White Heron Cup is this weekend! Can we get the express healing done quick so that, I dunno, we make it in time?"

"Oh dear, that's right: you're the Golden Deer representative, aren't you?" Manuela smirked at this development, the former opera singer extraordinaire rising out from her. "Well, don't worry. It wouldn't do me any good to knock the competition down a peg, although it _is _tempting."

"P-Please don't, Professor…" Marianne willed herself to say. "This is all my fault and...I'll do anything, if it means that she heals quickly and quietly…"

"I'm kidding with you girls! I'd never stoop so low. I'll try my best, but three days is probably the most I can do. On the bright side, you'll have a couple of days before the Cup, so you can make up for it then. Alright?"

Hilda didn't mind shirking work when it was necessary, but she was chosen among all the other students to represent Golden Deer, and if she wasn't healed in time, it wouldn't just be her to suffer the consequences.

The whole _house _would be ridiculed, and it wasn't fair for them to be punished for her own misgivings. If only Professor Byleth picked someone else, or that Marianne hadn't stepped on her foot the wrong way when she did—

_Stop it, _she told herself. _This isn't Marianne's fault. This is no one's fault. It's an accident._

…._So start acting like it is, already. _"Right," Hilda said through gritted teeth. "I'll make up for it then."

.

.

"Are you angry with me, Hilda?"

Marianne spoke up after a whole half hour of silence. Professor Manuela administered her treatment, and Hilda's leg was done up in a cast. The bones weren't broken, but she sprained her ankle, and tore a tendon. Those types of injuries took weeks to heal on their own, and even though Manuela promised she'd be in shape for the White Heron Cup, it seemed impossible. The pain might be gone by then, but could Hilda dance? Could she twirl about elegantly for the judges, and earn their high scores through her charming ways?

Those were the thoughts occupying the both of them, until Marianne shattered the still air with her meek voice. Hilda was angry at her initially, but by then the frustration had faded—replaced by sad _acceptance, _instead. "Not anymore," she admitted. "But I wasn't lying about earlier. It's not your fault, Marianne, and I don't want you beating yourself up over it like it is."

"How can it not be my fault? If I didn't step on your foot during dance practice, and cause you to trip just then, I...I—"

"To be fair, it was also _my _fault for landing so awkwardly," Hilda pointed out from her place in the bed. She finally got what she wanted—an excuse to lie down all day, a free pass out of class, and people bringing her meals without her having to ask. She couldn't walk around or talk to people outside of the infirmary, though, not until Manuela finished up with her leg. "In that case, it's _both _our faults!"

"B-But—"

"No buts! That's all there is to it!" Hilda _harrumphed _and crossed her arms over her chest, pointing her nose high in the air as she pretended to be more offended than she truly was. "Although if you promise to keep me company and get Claude and the others to swing by...then I might be able to forgive you."

"Oh, Hilda...of course I can—I mean, I'll try. It's the least I can do after all this madness."

"Glad to hear it!" Hilda's face broke out into a wide smile, and she laughed at Marianne's expense. "Oh, come on, lighten up! On the bright side, I don't have to fall asleep in class and get yelled at by Professor Byleth again, and _you _get an excuse to ditch class and visit me—" she realized it was Marianne she was speaking to, and not Claude, so Hilda amended her words by saying— "if you want to. You don't have to. But I'd like it if you did."

"I-I'm not sure I can...just _skip _class…" Marianne admitted. "But for you, Hilda, I...I'll _try. _Okay?"

"Okay. For now, why don't you go have lunch? And fetch one of the stupid boys to get me some food, too. I'm starving."

Marianne winced: Hilda woke up early for some extra dance practice, only to have her efforts ruined by Marianne in full. She tried not to think about it as she nodded along to her words.

"Sure, anything for you."

.

.

"There's our injured deer!" Claude's voice filled up the infirmary seamlessly, and the rest of their friends followed after him. "Wow, I hope you feel better than you look, Hilda."

She rolled her eyes. "Haha, very funny, Claude. As a matter of fact, it hurts _much_ less now. I still can't move it, though."

"Wait, you can't move it? As in, you can't move it a lot, or at all?" Ignatz emerged from the doorway, dwarfed by both Claude and Raphael who entered before him. "I'm so sorry, Hilda. If there's anything we can do, just say the word."

"Oh, thanks Ignatz! I mean, I haven't tried moving it around yet, so maybe if I—"

"Don't—"

"_Ow!" _Hilda cut off Claude's warning with a high-pitched shriek. She flung her leg back into place, face drawn into a sneer. "Yeah, it's not looking too good."

Leonie stepped forward, and kneeled at her bedside. "I went through the same thing once. This kind of process takes weeks, y'know."

Hilda blanched, and Marianne—who entered the room last behind Lysithea—tried not to cry. "Yeah, I know. Professor Manuela told me as much."

"_But _we didn't have white magic healers in our village," Leonie pointed out. "We just had traditional medicine, so maybe it'll be different for you."

"I daresay a letter to my father is in order! I'll demand he sends the family doctor at once!" Lorenz cried out as he pondered their current state of affairs. "With our candidate so gravely injured, we need to secure our chances in the White Heron Cup. Everyone will be watching!"

"Won't it take a while for your letter to get there, though? Not to mention the time it'll take for your pops to assemble some folks to drive on down here," Raphael said, in a much calmer tone than he was known for having. He looked upon Hilda with sympathy. "No use in doing that now, is there?"

"Raphael is right," Claude agreed. "There's barely any time for outside help. We're on our own, here."

Lorenz crossed his arms, scowling. "Then what do you suggest we do, O Great Leader?"

"We can't _do _anything," Lysithea cut in. "We already know that Professor Manuela is doing everything she can, and she's the authority on white magic as it is. All we can do is wait, and besides that, we're wasting time."

"Aw, don't get sad over me, you guys," Hilda said. "Let's just eat lunch together and stop worrying so much!"

The room visibly lightened up at her insistence, to which everyone was grateful in varying degrees. Marianne herself finally stepped out from behind Leonie, and made her way to the foot of the bed, where she reached over and placed her hands over Hilda's good leg. "I'll stay with you," she insisted. "I-I'm not good for much else...and maybe, if Professor Manuela will allow me...I can help the healing process."

Of all the students in the Golden Deer, Marianne was the most gifted at faith magic. Her devotion to the Goddess and unwillingness to fight in most cases meant she was the best at healing. She was only to be outdone by Lysithea, whose constant studying and overworking made her the strongest mage in the house—quite possibly the entire academy!

"That sounds like a plan," Claude agreed over her shoulder. "Okay, so we'll have Marianne help bedside manner, Raphael and Ignatz can help with carrying stuff to Hilda that she needs—"

"Aw, thanks, Claude! You're so sweet!"

"You're welcome, but don't say I never did anything for you."

She deflated somewhat. "Yeah, yeah."

"And the rest of us can work on crowd control. As in, a bunch of people saw Marianne carry Hilda to the infirmary earlier, and will want to know what happen. Let's not mention the severity of the situation in full, and say that she'll be ready for the White Heron Cup without a hitch."

"Are you sure?" Lorenz asked, eyeing Hilda. "It would be worse to lie to them, or promise them something that might not even happen."

"You have a point, but if she's going to be out of commission either way, it might be better to have them believe otherwise."

"Guys," Hilda whined. "I was promised three, four days in the infirmary at max. Don't count me out yet!"

"Maybe we should have a backup plan," Leonie advised. "In case Hilda can't make it, one of us should be there in her place."

"Like an understudy?" Ignatz muttered. "That...sounds good to me, actually."

"Okay, addendum to the old plan: everyone that's not Marianne is gonna start learning the moves as soon as possible. In case Hilda can't make it—which is a big 'in case' because she swears she'll make it—then we need someone else to pick up where she left off."

"More dancing?" Lysithea groaned. "This day just keeps getting better and better, huh?"

"You're not the one in a cast," Hilda snapped. Lysithea, for once, didn't say anything, but her cheeks reddened as she turned away.

Marianne felt her insides coil up and die. At least she was spared the actual trouble of becoming the representative's understudy, but she was the one who caused all the problems to start with! Head hanging low, she murmured, "I-I'm sorry everyone, for all the trouble I've caused...and not just this incident, either."

"Marianne—"

"Hey, it's okay," Leonie cooed as she rubbed circles into Marianne's back. "We'll make it work, and who knows? Raphael might end up giving Hilda a run for her money."

Raphael Kirsten wasn't exactly a picture of elegance or grace, but he lit up at the possibility of being so. "You think so? You really think so, Leonie?"

Before she could answer, a disapproving voice piped up from the hallway. "Excuse me, we can't have this many people in the infirmary at once! I'm glad to see you're all concerned for Hilda, but this is too much!" Manuela emerged after squeezing through Lysithea and Lorenz, looking worse for wear. "Golden Deer, please disperse, or whatever it is you kids do after class. I've got work to do."

They all gave into Manuela's demands, despite wanting to go against them, instead. The chatter and footsteps disappeared in waves, until Marianne could no longer hear Raphael's bellowing laughter, or Claude's dulcet tones. She sighed deeply, and looked up at the doctor in question. "Is it alright if I stay here? Just a little longer. I-I want to help, if I can."

Afraid that she'd be denied, Marianne's chest relaxed its treacherous hold on her heart, long enough for her to relish in an expression that was utterly kind towards her. "Of course, dear. I don't mind. I've heard quite a few things about you from Professor Hanneman and Professor Byleth—you're the faith magic expert among the Golden Deer students, or so they've said."

"N-No, that's far too much praise. I don't really...do much…"

"Yeah, 'cause she actually does _a lot," _Hilda insisted from the bed. "Should've seen her in battle—_ugh, _battle, and so sweaty, too! Last week, for example? Bandits, a ton of them. If it weren't for Marianne, we wouldn't even _be _here right now."

"Hilda! That's—"

"My, that's high praise if I ever heard it," Manuela hummed as she flitted about the medicine shelves and cabinets, a butterfly to flowers. "I'd like to see it for myself. Of course, I'll be leading the process entirely, but it would be nice to have some help, for once."

She returned with a mix of things, most of them odd drinks and topicals in glass jars. Marianne also recognized several powder packets, as well as a thick tome of white magic spells—well-worn and marked up in colored pen, front to back. "Whoa," she said. "This is—"

Manuela seated herself at Hilda's bedside, eyes trained on the injured leg in question. "Now," she said, "let's get started."

.

.

The next few days were easier than the last. Contrary to her usual disposition, Professor Manuela was quite serious when it came to medicine. The flirtatious mannerisms disappeared, as well as the easygoing tone, and her expression was so serious that Marianne almost didn't want to disturb her. She thought it would stay that way, until Manuela barked some orders and Marianne tried her best to carry them out. While she was sure she'd only get in the way, Manuela thought otherwise, and managed to smile at her in between the madness.

When they were done, Hilda's leg was almost completely healed. The Golden Deer assembled in the infirmary a few days later, after Professor Manuela went into town for a few hours. They ate lunch in the cramped infirmary-doubling-as-an-office, forced to resort to lap-sitting and crossed-leg positions on the floor. Ignatz looked up from his rice and fish. "It looks better," he supplied to Hilda. "How are you feeling?"

"I feel great," she said. "I think I'll make it in time for the White Heron Cup! Just our luck, yeah? Unless you guys really doubled down on the whole dance routine, or whatever."

"We tried," Leonie grumbled through her meat skewers. She bit off the fat end of it and was hardly decipherable when she said, "Only Claude and Lysithea were good at dancing. Lorenz was awful, Ignatz was decent, but don't get me started on Raphael or myself."

"You weren't _that _bad," Claude said.

"What do you mean I was _awful?" _Lorenz cried out. "Excuse you, I am a _noble _and dancing is almost the same as the blood coursing through my veins, why I—"

"You weren't bad in a technical sense," Lysithea insisted. She twirled a fork of pasta around in her hand, but—knowing Lysithea—the marinara sauce was twice as sweet as usual. "But you're overly flamboyant and have no sense of personal space! Also, you're _totally _embarrassing!"

A small fight broke out between them, but mostly one-sided as Lysithea took offense to Lorenz not backing down, while Lorenz simply tried to prove to her why she was wrong. When the group got sidetracked, Marianne shuffled across the floor on her knees, propping herself up on Hilda's bedside with a worried expression. "Are you sure you're alright?" she asked. "You don't have to say that for...for our sakes, you know."

"Oh trust me, I know." Hilda grinned. "I'm serious, Marianne. I feel way better. It's probably thanks to you!"

Marianne blushed, eyes trailing to the floor. "I-I didn't do much...it was Professor Manuela that—"

"Oh, stop it! You more than made up for, well, putting me here in the first place."

She faltered. "R-Right."

"On the bright side, I can start dancing soon. And I'll need someone to come practice with me again! So if you're up for it, we can give it another go!"

"Is that okay? M-My clumsiness could strike again."

"...Okay, you've got a point. I'll dance with Claude for a little bit, and then I can switch over to you. Sound fair?"

Marianne peered behind her shoulder. Lysithea and Lorenz were still fighting, only this time Leonie got dragged into the mix, and now she and Lysithea were hounding Lorenz on more than just his dancing style. Ignatz clearly wanted to go mediate the fight, but he was stopped by Claude, who was all for Lorenz getting dragged. Meanwhile, Raphael had eaten all the food he brought with him, and started going after the dishes left behind by the others, who were too busy bickering to notice.

It was crazy, loud, and completely inappropriate for those who represented the Leicester Alliance, but it was just the kind of chaos they were used to. Marianne almost smiled at the sight of it, and mustered the courage to face Hilda head on.

"I-I can do that," she stammered. "And this time, no one will get hurt—"

"That's great! I—

"I hope."

"You _hope?"_

Hilda's disbelief was drowned out by Lorenz's high-pitched screams, and a very disapproving Hanneman who stuck his head into the room, demanding they all be quiet.

Marianne couldn't quite smile yet, but she matched Hilda's certainty with some off-brand resolve of her own. "What I mean to say is...is that...uh, I hope no one gets hurt. I mean, I _promise _no one will get hurt. B-Because I, I'm going to try and...be a reliable partner, for once."

"Marianne!" Hilda squealed, earning another scolding from Hanneman, who took it out on their friends beyond them. "You've _always_ been reliable! Thank you!"

Hilda was used to buttering up people with praises and thanks if it meant getting out of more work, but the cadence of her voice—the clarity of her pitch, melody of her words, timing of her hands as they flew to Marianne's back in a sudden embrace—was unmistakable.

She was being genuine, for once.

Marianne nearly cried.

.

.

There was no way she could do this. Somehow, Marianne never saw the Golden Deer house leader in action, but the way Claude danced effortlessly to the beat—matching Hilda's smile for his own, commanding the attention of all in the room—was quite enviable.

How would she, the living embodiment of awkwardness, compare?

Not even the Goddess knows, because it should be illegal for Marianne to dance anymore. After all, her best efforts landed their star representative in the infirmary, and if she wasn't careful, history would repeat itself once more.

At this point, there was no denying the fact that Marianne only put herself through this misery because of Hilda.

A realization which brought no comfort to her, whatsoever. Marianne suppressed a groan from escaping when the tempo stopped, and Claude and Hilda bowed before each other in response.

"T-That was amazing," Marianne squeaked. "You two are so good at dancing…"

"Thanks! I've always loved dancing, ever since I was a kid, so I just started dancing whenever I could."

"Thanks, I'm a natural."

Their answers were totally in-sync and yet completely different from each other, but Marianne felt a strange discord, anyway. Seeing the two of them—Claude von Riegan, and Hilda Valentine Goneril—standing side-by-side together made her realize something.

If there were such a thing as a "perfect couple," by all admissions, they would be it! Everything down from the height difference to their personalities bouncing off each other was absolutely endearing. And Marianne was sure that the two of them were so close, they'd be seen as the Golden Deer's representative House Leader, and his loyal right-hand. Just as Edelgard had Hubert and Dimitri had Dedue, Claude had Hilda, yet there was something more to them than being simple allies.

They were best friends, practically. They bantered all the time—Claude trying to make Hilda put in effort when she'd rather not, Hilda trying to break through Claude's facade, only in a way that wasn't so obvious to anyone except the Riegan heir in question—and had such great chemistry, in ways that Marianne could never hope to replicate. She was an oddball, a black sheep, a curse sent from the Goddess herself, for whatever reason she had for punishing Marianne in the first place.

What was Marianne even doing, standing there in her presence like she belonged there?

Like she deserved to?

She was just about to voice these fears—inasmuch as a tiny squeak or protest could voice, anyway—when Claude spoke up first.

"But enough about me. Let's see you two give it a try."

"Claude, Hilda, I'm not so sure that's a good idea. Last time I—"

"Last time it was just you and me, so no one was there to break my fall. _This _time, Claude pinkie promises to stop catastrophe right before it happens—_if _it happens because we're going to do better than we did before. Right, Claude?"

"Sheesh, and you call _me _demanding? Just hurry it up, will you?" he teased her with a gentle smile, and every intention of going along with her words. It wasn't just for Hilda, either, as their whole house's reputation was at stake. And while he'd done a good job pretending like that didn't matter to him, the truth was that as long as it involved his housemates—his _friends—_it mattered quite a lot.

Marianne finally understood this, and felt so ashamed of thinking otherwise. "A-Alright…"

"Perfect! Let's begin!"

They didn't have music at their disposal, but there _was _a metronome, and Marianne watched with rapt attention as Hilda set the timer, the hand-mechanism on the metronome swinging back-and-forth to a familiar beat. Marianne gulped, and assumed the stance of the person who waits for the lead, rather than taking it. She'd never lead anything in her entire life, so long as she lived.

But it wasn't so bad if Hilda was there to lead, instead. She giggled before taking Marianne's open hand in hers, and placing her other hand on Marianne's hip, gently tapping against the slightness with her delicate fingers.

Warmth seemed to bloom from that place upward, cheeks tinted red and betraying her thoughts. Marianne ducked her head lower, but Hilda wouldn't allow it, and lifted her chin to meet eyes. "It's rude to not look at your dancing partner, you know."

_Oh. _"I, uh, um…"

"Okay, just follow my lead."

"Got it."

Claude was thankfully silent, to the point where Marianne forgot he was there. She never looked away from Hilda, but had trouble keeping her gaze straight. When her eyes physically couldn't handle staring at someone for so long, she glanced at other things of interest, instead: Hilda's fingers as they interlocked hers, Hilda's hair that swayed with their every movement, Hilda's skirt as it twirled around her, Hilda's neck adorned with fancy jewels, Hilda's lips as they curled into a smile, Hilda's heartbeat beating as if it were her own.

Hilda, Hilda, Hilda.

Marianne became lightweight and empty as they danced around the room. Her heavy, awkward steps faded away, melting into the cadence behind them. And in the middle of it, Hilda spun her around with arms outstretched, reining Marianne back in with a laugh.

For the first time in a long time, Marianne laughed, too.

Hilda seemed to falter here, almost tripping of her own accord before a helpful hand from behind straightened out her shoulders. She muttered a "thank you" and closed the distance, so close to Marianne that she could have felt the heat bleed through her skin.

Step, step, twirl, step, step, spin.

Marianne didn't even get dizzy.

Hilda finished their dance with an elegant sweep, dipping Marianne low enough that her arms were tickled by the ends of Hilda's hair. She couldn't resist giggling, and Hilda beamed down at her. "Easy, right?" She twirled her around again, until the two of them were standing up and across from each other. "Now we finish with a bow, or a curtsy."

Marianne could at least curtsy, and she did so without faltering. When she straightened herself out, she jumped at the sudden sharpness of applause. "Bravo," Claude praised. "You two were a sight for eyes. Natural, even."

"So, would you say I'm good enough for the White Heron Cup?"

"Better than that. I'll be surprised if we don't win," Claude said. "Okay, I think I ought to get going. Make sure to rest tonight, the both of you. We have a celebration in the making for tomorrow!"

The two of them bade their house leader goodbye, and Marianne let out a deep sigh. "I-I never thought...I'd be able to dance like that. Ever."

"But look at you! You did well!" Hilda cheered. "And I feel great. Tomorrow's gonna be _so _easy, and I don't even have homework to do!" She stretched her arms upwards, sighing in delight. "This is the life!"

Marianne bit down on her lower lip. Her heart still hadn't calmed down from their dance, and she clenched her fists tightly to curb some of the extra adrenaline going through her system. "It sure is," she agreed.

.

.

The whole school was gathered to see the White Heron Cup. The judging panel consisted of Shamir, Manuela, and Alois. Standing before them were the three representatives of each house: Dorothea Arnault of the Black Eagles, Annette Fantine Dominic of the Blue Lions, and Hilda Valentine Goneril of the Golden Deer. Dorothea was an obvious choice, given her musical experience from having worked at the Mittelfrank Opera Company, and her naturally charming demeanor, otherwise. Annette was an odder choice, as she was on the meeker side and not nearly as elegant, but she loved to sing and dance, and had the determination to do anything she sets her mind to. She was a good candidate as they all were, followed up by none other than—

—Hilda Valentine Goneril, resident cutie of the Golden Deer. She was captivating and charming, cunning enough to use others as excuses to get herself out of things, but caring enough that she put genuine effort in things that mattered. She was recently injured during practice, and most people assumed she wouldn't heal in time to be judged, but there she was, smiling and unscathed.

Marianne gulped. She had faith in Hilda, but less so in herself. Even though they practiced together, part of her was worried that Hilda would mess up—or worse, injure herself again.

She said nothing as the judging began. Dorothea started things off, but Marianne wasn't paying attention. Before she knew it, Annette was dancing, too. Finally, it got to Hilda, and Marianne held her breath in anticipation.

Hilda twirled and danced effortlessly, pigtails flying, but somehow enhancing her overall performance. When she was done, there was rowdy applause from her fellow Golden Deer, but all grew silent as Alois motioned for calm.

"We judges have put in our scores—"

_Please be Hilda—_

"And put every single thing into consideration—

_Please let it be Hilda—_

"That we may choose fairly and openly, in regards to all three houses who chose to participate—"

_It's my fault if we lose. If Hilda wasn't able to put on her best performance—_

"We shall now announce the winner!"

_Oh Goddess, please put me out of my misery, already—_

"The winner is—"

_I can't take this anymore—_

"...The Golden Deer, as represented by Hilda! Valentine! Goneriiiiiil!"

The applause was deafening, and Hilda _sparkled _in the limelight. "Wait, are you serious? Yay!"

"Congratulations!"

They gathered around Hilda—Lysithea dragging Marianne out of her shell-shocked state, at some point—and cheered for her. They drowned her in praises, until Raphael couldn't hold himself back anymore, and he lifted Hilda into the air, jumping her up and down while they chanted: "Hilda! Hilda! Hilda!"

The other houses were exasperated at the display, but were enlivened to the point where they could smile and say she deserved it. All the while, Marianne grasped Hilda's hand with her own, staring up at her in awe and admiration.

"Thank you, thank you! I couldn't have done it without you guys!"

"Hilda—"

Raphael set her down, and the clamor began to die out. As the last of them dispersed, Hilda quietly grabbed for Marianne's hand, and held it in her own. "I _especially _couldn't have done it without you."

Then she did the unthinkable. Hilda Valentine Goneril, in all her beauty and cheer, leaned over, and placed a kiss on Marianne's cheek. Her lips were very much like the rest of her: soft, pink, _sweet._

Marianne's face turned red, but this time, she didn't hide it. She wasn't nearly as charismatic or articulate as Hilda might have been, but she thought to all the times Hilda surprised her in the past, and pulled a page out of her well-worn book.

She returned the favor by kissing Hilda's cheek, smiling against her skin. "Well," Marianne said, "what are friends for?"


End file.
